


Tempora Mutantur

by Kasuchi



Category: Psych
Genre: Detectives, F/M, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, POV Male Character, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Well, the times, they are a-changin'.</i> It’s not Lassiter’s secret to tell, but he’s got a few of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempora Mutantur

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tempus Fugit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/129522) by [Kasuchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi). 



> Spoilers for/up to _Yang 3 in 2D_ but NOTHING afterwards. (Honestly, I lost track of the show after that.) 
> 
> Sequel to **Tempus Fugit** , which got booted out of canon. This, too, takes place somewhere kind of outside canon, in the strictest sense. You need to read that in order to understand some of the details mentioned here.

The first thing he does is get coffee. Because, despite the air in the precinct being warm and dry, he feels chilled. It has been a long day -- a long year, as McNabb had put it, though Lassiter would never admit that aloud -- and though the sun is up, he is _tired_. 

Even computers have a sleep mode.

**& &&**

When he clocks out, he goes home and, in a numbed haze, falls into bed after undressing. He sleeps like the dead for most of his weekend (the fact that it's Thursday and Friday together be damned) and wakes up only to eat and piss and shower. By Friday, he's something resembling human again, so he makes himself breakfast-for-whatever-the-hell-the-meal-is: pancakes, bacon, hash browns, toast, orange juice, and strong, black coffee from the stash of beans he only grinds down when it's been a particularly satisfying or harrowing case.

He remembers the last time he had pulled these out, the day after Juliet's shaking, sobbing, _alive_ body was rescued from the edge of that building. The day after Lassiter realized he could breathe again. 

Suddenly, he isn't in the mood for coffee.

**& &&**

She had been pulling away from him. He'd noticed -- of course he had noticed. He's the head detective of the SBPD, but more importantly, she’s his fucking _partner_. It still means something.

He knows her. She's good at keeping secrets when she wants to, open face aside. But -- and there’s always a but -- she had been pulling away. Somehow, though they would ride in the Crown Vic not 10 inches apart, would hunch over files a handspan between them, would stand shoulder to shoulder while interviewing a suspect, the distance had seemed vast. 

He thought maybe she was backsliding, and he remembered the weeks when her wardrobe had taken on a monochromatic hue, when her smiles had been so infrequent, and realized that feeling was _panic_. And so, he had watched her surreptitiously, tense, aware. 

She smiled easily, her wardrobe had all the colors infused in it once more, and yet the feeling hadn't subsided.

They were paused at a stop light, engine rumbling beneath his fingers drumming on the steering wheel when he had said it, at last. "Are you okay?"

She had looked at him, head slightly angled towards him, eyes meeting his briefly. "Yes," she said firmly. "I'm fine."

"Are you still seeing...?"

She paused. The light stayed red. "Yes," she said again, quieter.

"Okay," he replied, and the light turned.

**& &&**

It's the mother of all secrets.

Spencer and O'Hara. O'Hara and Spencer. Them and their ridiculous dance of the past few years and now, he had it. The leverage to get Spencer removed as a consultant or whatever such bullshit title he had. Comeuppance for nearly getting him sacked for seeing his partner. 

Except.

O'Hara will get moved around, too, and...Lassiter doesn't want the bother of training the new kid, not again. He's sunk in five good years with O'Hara and has just started to reap the benefits. No need to go back to square one with some other fresh-faced ingenue. 

Convinced, he nods to himself and pulls back the slide to finish cleaning his P99.

**& &&**

It turns into spring and Lassiter feels old, somehow, watching O'Hara breeze her way through paperwork and practically bounce off, probably to meet Spencer and watch movies or swim with dolphins or something equally absurd or crazy or domestic.

His hair has started to grey at his temples, and getting out of bed feels harder every day. His elbow acts up sometimes and his bones crack when he stands. He drinks too much coffee and doesn't eat as well as he ought to, probably, though he maintains that alfalfa is for rabbits and not for people. 

He still remembers his cases, though. Every victim, every arrest, every moment of justice. It's why he keeps coming back.

**& &&**

They're doing paperwork as the clock winds down on their shift, desk lamps on and overhead lights off, when he blurts it out. "You've been looking happy lately, O'Hara. You been seeing someone?"

She flushes scarlet to the roots of her hair. Fleetingly, he wonders how far down her blush creeps and idly fingers the strap of the watch she bought him. "Actually, I am and he's---"

"Nope, stopped caring," he cuts in, returning to his screen to type in the relevant details.

" _Carlton_ ," she chides, but her voice is laughing and he accepts it. He _is_ difficult; it's just not entirely on purpose. 

After a while, when the silence is warm with promise, he adds, more softly, "I hope he's good enough for you, O'Hara." 

He sees her glance at him from the corner of his eye, but his gaze remains locked on the screen.

"He is," she says at last, setting her pen down.

He scoffs. "Somehow, I sincerely doubt that." 

She laughs and shakes her head. "Is anyone good enough?"

"No," he replies flatly.

**& &&**

Sometimes he just wants to turn to her and say, "I know. And now, you know that I know." Except he, for some reason, wants to hear it from _her_.

He's been mentally cataloguing her appearance each day, accounting for the weather, of course. She looks brighter somehow, elated. It's a good look for her, and somehow it makes him wistful. 

Spencer stops jockeying for attention at every turn, it seems. There's something in his face that's different; maybe it's the lines around his eyes are relaxing, or maybe it's that he's got that same brightness to him. God forbid -- maybe Spencer's _growing up_. Lassiter almost wants to roll his eyes, they're so damn cute and _obvious_. 

How the hell did he not see this?

**& &&**

Summertime comes and her hair turns honey-colored again, though darker strands show through as she moves her head. He awkwardly mutters something about how it looks nice and she shrugs and beams.

"It felt like it was time for a change," she says, self-consciously fingering a curl. "The darker color...well, you know I'm a Spring."

"And I'm a Winter, right?" 

She grins, eyes sparkling. "Yes, absolutely you are." 

"Cold and unforgiving," he adds, a bit a quirk to the edge of his mouth.

"Austere and uncorrupted," she retorts and strides off to put away files she had drawn.

**& &&**

They get beach time -- "You've both been working too many hours. I need you both to _not_ take any calls for a while. You hear me?" Chief Vick had glared daggers at both of them before casting them out of her office -- and Lassiter decides that now is as good a time as any.

"I'm going to help a DEA buddy bust a drug cartel out in Modesto." He pauses for effect, and because the next words feel foreign in his mouth. "Enjoy the time off, O'Hara."

She gapes at him, as he expected. "Wait, did you just tell me to have fun?"

"Oh forget it," he mutters, and moves to walk away. 

"Aw, Carlton." She grabs him by the elbow, effectively stopping him. "How long will you be gone?"

"Six weeks, probably." 

"Sounds dangerous," she adds mildly, dropping the hand that had rested on his arm. 

"It is," he confirms.

She huffs a laugh and tilts her head slightly. "Well, have fun, then." 

"Oh, I will," he assures her, flashing her a grin. "Knocking around some coke-head gangsters, setting up a sting." He rubs his hands together. "Best vacation ever."

"I thought fishing was?"

"Fishing has been bumped down a space."

"Well, what about--"

"Shut up, O'Hara." 

She smirks at him. "Take care, Carlton." Her expression softens. "Come back safe." 

He casts a surreptitious glance around the precinct and nods. "I will," he asserts firmly, voice quiet. It's worth it for the relief on her face afterwards. Somehow, that relief feels like a victory.

**& &&**

Six weeks passes in a blur, and Lassiter's days are spent poring over phone records, maps, and cross-referencing text messages. It's slow, painful work, but it's the work that court cases are won with.

O'Hara texts him a couple of times a week, usually a joke or an update on what's going on at the precinct. He responds curtly, as is his nature, but he knows O'Hara can read between the lines. He's saying, _I'm safe, don't worry_ even when he's telling her not to scratch the Crown Vic of theirs.

Eventually, they get a tip as to where the gang's main weapons cache is. Carlton straps on a bulletproof vest and a helmet and stands behind the guys in full-on riot gear as they raid a quiet home in an older neighborhood. 

When it's done, there's a small arsenal set up for the mayor to photo-op in front of, but Carlton stands in the back, away from the cameras, and remains stoic. It's a drop in the bucket, he knows, but it's _something_ and that is solace, too.

**& &&**

When his six weeks are up, he takes another week and goes fishing.

"Seriously? Another week? And to go fishing of all things?"

He can practically _see_ O'Hara's incredulous expressing. He adjusts the cell phone against his shoulder. "Yes, O'Hara. Because fishing is a way for man to reconnect with nature and his true self."

He can tell she's rolling her eyes. "You just want to avoid Santa Barbara's county fair."

"The less I work security, the better off we all are."

"Touche. Enjoy your trip, I'll see you when you get back."

"I'll bring you salmon jerky."

"Ew, gross, don't bother."

He grins at her disgusted tone. He's missed her, too.

**& &&**

When he realizes he loves her, it's knee-deep in riverwater, mosquitoes buzzing in his ears.

He casts the line into the slow-moving deep water of the river and gently shifts his weight in his waders, hat pulled down low over his eyes. 

The water gurgles as it passes, and the stillness is not oppressive, though the heat most certainly is. He is contemplating the treeline when the thought occurs to him: he loves Juliet O'Hara.

It's not a freight train of a realization, the way it had been with his ex-wife. No, this feels more like how it felt when his mother would fluff out a sheet over him in the summer time, the linen slowly settling on his shoulders and arms. For a moment, his whole body tingles, and then the sensation is gone, replaced by a quiet sort of warmth in his chest. 

He shakes his head and tugs on the line a little. He's clearly getting sentimental in his old age.

**& &&**

He comes back from Modesto the same but different. The epiphany is still there, he can feel his heart beating in anticipation of seeing her, but it's not _that_ different. He's loved her for a long time, he realizes, long before he'd ever heard of Yin and Yang.

The precinct is busy, people moving all about carrying papers or pushing perps from room to room. He weaves through the crowd with practiced ease, his coffee barely shaking in its mug. When he gets to his desk, he sets the mug down and turns. He can see her hands in the reflection of his computer monitor.

She beams. "Welcome back, Carlton," she greets, and gives him a quick hug that he reciprocates in his own way before pulling apart. "How was fishing?"

"Relaxing," he replies immediately, sitting down in his chair. O'Hara perches on the edge of his desk. He takes a moment to study her. Light gray pantsuit, a medium blue shirt, lip gloss, chignon. She looks better than she has in over a year. "It seems the time off was good for you, too," he says wryly, hiding a smirk. She's a few shades browner, and if he's not imagining things then that's a dusting of freckles under her makeup.

She blushes -- honest-to-god _blushes_ \-- and stammers that she and her guy went to the beach for a week. He lets her suffer for a few moments longer before he smiles and covers her hand.

"I'm glad you're happy, O'Hara." It's the most sincere thing he's said since "I do," and his voice is soft and rough. 

She bites the inside of her cheek and her eyes turn glassy. She nods once, turns his hand over, and squeezes back. After a moment, she pulls away and returns to her own desk.

He turns on his monitor and sips his coffee and tries not to think about how he misses her already.

**& &&**

In the privacy of his home, as he showers, the hot water cascading across his skin, then he takes the long, hard length of himself in hand and strokes. He lets himself want her, here, for just a few moments.

When he comes, the water washes it all away.

**& &&**

It's another late night for them in the office, the overheads off and desk lamps on. He catches himself watching her, the golden light making her highlights shimmer as she moves, the waves loose about her shoulders. She's wearing mascara and nail polish (though her fingers are trimmed to the quick) and her shirt is pastel pink with blue pinstripes.

Without second-guessing himself, he stands and moves to her desk, perching on its edge. She finishes filling out the indicated box of a police report before giving him her full attention. He can't help the swell of pride at that -- _he_ taught her that. 

"O'Hara--" He pauses and corrects himself. "Juliet. There's something I need to tell you." 

She takes a deep breath, something like panic in her eyes. He'd almost be amused if he wasn't so damn nervous. 

"I know," he says simply, and shrugs.

"Know....what?" she responds slowly, brow furrowing. 

He clears his throat. "About you and....Spencer. I know, ok? I have for a while."

"You have?" Her mouth is a perfect circle.

He grins. "Of course I have. I'm the head detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He rubs his fingers over the strap of the watch she bought him, the one she doesn't realize he understands better than anyone else what the gesture really means. 

She laughs quietly. "I'd make a lousy criminal." 

"Only because I know you so well," he rebuts quietly. He reaches out and squeezes her hand. "I...I'm glad," he adds at last, voice gentle and husky and soft. 

She flashes him a brilliant smile and ducks her head. "Yeah. Me too." 

He nods and makes to stand when her grasp tightens.

"Why did you say anything?" Her eyes are large and searching, the low light making her look luminous. 

Awkwardly, he fidgets, doesn't quite raise his eyes to hers. His voice takes on a gruff tone. "Because. You're my _partner_. That means something. It always will." 

She nods expression understanding, and unclasps their hands. "Thank you."

He nods and flashes a smile filled with nervous energy and returns to his desk. He picks up his pen and glances at her -- her head is bowed but he can see the pink tip of her tongue poking out from between her lips -- before turning back to his own reports.

The sound of shuffled papers is the only sound they make for a long time.

**& &&**

Juliet O'Hara never broke, he realizes.

Instead, she was reforged.

**Author's Note:**

>   1. _Tempora mutantur_ means "times change", or more precisely "the times are changed". It's sometimes translated as, "The more things change..."
>   2. "The times, they are a-changin" is from the Bob Dylan song of the same name.
>   3. This took basically forever to write, mostly because I couldn't ever quite get the ending right. But, it's currently about as complete as I'll ever get it.
>   4. The most interesting thing about this and **Tempus Fugit** is that you could read them as shippy or gen and it works both ways, but in different tones. I _do_ ship these two, but their friendship and partnership is still one of my favorite things about the show. 
> 



End file.
